


The C in S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

by FyireMoon



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: As people show up I will add them., F/M, Lots of platonic F!SS and Deacon, Mild Language, Oneshots Galore, Rating may change but I doubt it?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6189022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyireMoon/pseuds/FyireMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now, there's something special about you isn't there, don't tell me, let me guess...<br/>Hmm.. I think I know a fellow performer when I see one. Good with your words? Know just the right thing to say at the right time?"</p>
<p>A collection of oneshots featuring my Sole Survivor, Nereida, and her charismatic adventures in the Commonwealth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Operative and the Mercenary

Nereida needed help, she knew that much. Not because of an injury, or a bounty on her head or anyone hunting her, but rather a personal issue. It felt like there was an itch in her chest, burning along her skin and no amount of ignoring or scratching could do anything to cool its rage. Every movement felt impatient and angry. 

It was why she’d started wandering by herself, in the fear this itch would consume her and she’d go off like a feral on Deacon or Valentine or Piper. This way it was just her, no one to suffer the consequences of whatever had gotten into her. So she ran, from her friends and the Minutemen, in a vain attempt to outrun whatever crawled along her skin and haunted her steps. That’s how she ended up in Goodneighbor. 

 

Doing the job for Bobbi had seemed to work, quelling that itch as she threw herself into the work. A harmless dig to Diamond City turned sour in an instant, and she was caught in a personal grudge between a ghoul and the Mayor of Goodneighbor. Thankfully her mouth always seemed to know what words to weave together in order to defuse any situation.

 

Hancock had offered her a reward, which she took in the form of a free room in the Hotel Rexford for a couple nights and a pouch full of caps. Something about Goodneighbor made the itch less prominent, as if she could just curl up in a ball here and never be found again. It was a comforting and terrifying sensation. 

 

It terrified her that the Third Rail felt so natural with its cooling jazz and smoke filled rooms. She had ditched the Vault suit on her first night there, trading it out for an old pair or yellowish pants and a rust coloured corset. Her Pip-boy maintained its usual place on her arm, drawing eyes from scavengers whenever she passed. No one paid her any mind; she was just another troubled soul who washed up on Goodneighbor’s troubled door step and had yet to walk away. 

 

One thing Nereida doesn’t remember, is how the hell she ended up in the VIP lounge one day. As she rounded the corner into the red lit room, three men stole her attention; two standing and one sitting. Leaning against the doorway, she let her face setting into a mask of nonchalance and watched. 

 

The man in the chair leaned back, resting his elbows on the armrests and tenting his fingers in front of his nose, “Come on, Barnes, it took you long enough to find me. Getting rusty?” He smirked at the two men from under the brim of his hat. 

 

On of them took a half step forward in anger, but was stopped when his companion held an arm out to stop him, “Do we have to fucking take this, Winlock?” 

 

His companion, this Winlock fellow, ignored him, “Look Maccready, the only reason we haven't filled you with bullets is because we ain’t starting a war with Goodneighbor…” 

 

“But if we find out you’re still working in Gunner territory, you’re finished.” Barnes finished. Nereida wrinkled her nose, as if his accent wasn’t horrendous enough she could smell three week old beer and dirt wafting off the man. 

 

The mercenary in the chair, Maccready stood abruptly, “In case you forgot I left the Gunners for good. So I don’t take orders from you- not anymore, so why don’t you and your girlfriend walk out of here while you can?” 

 

Barnes snarled, “Like I said, we hear about you working in Gunner territory, all bets are off.” 

 

Maccready sat back down with a sigh, “You finished?” 

 

The two Gunners glanced at eachother, then turned to leave, “Yeah, we’re finished.” As they left, they bumped into Nereida, purposefully, and the woman felt a flash of anger run through her. Barnes had stopped, and was taking his time to let his eyes wander.

 

“What?” Nereida let her voice rise, sickly sweet, “Never seen a woman up close before?” There was a strangled laugh from Maccready. Barnes snarled, reaching for his gun, but Nereida was faster, jamming Deliverers barrel against the underside of his chin. 

 

She cocked her head, smiling, “Wouldn’t want to start a war with Goodneighbor now would you?” The gunner snarled again, but let his hands drop. She leaned back, keeping her gun on them until they were safely out of sight. Nereida rocked forward with a sigh, ready to return to her drink and- 

 

“Look lady,” Maccready was lounging in his chair, glaring at her from under the brim of his cap, “If you’re preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend you have the wrong guy. You need a hired gun then...Maybe we can talk.” 

 

Her brow shot up, “Look,  _ pal, _ I got lost and stumbled into your little spat.” she crossed her arms and turned to leave, “I’m not exactly looking for companions right now.” 

 

“I know you.” His comment made her pause, “You’re that Vaultie that ran a job for Bobbi No-Nose. Managed to smooth out the little argument between her and Hancock.” 

 

Nereida turned, “And?” 

 

Maccready sighed, “And I’m thinking that a woman like you makes as many enemies as she does friends, which means you need someone watching your back.” 

“Are you offering?” Part of her was interested now, a hired merc wouldn’t carry that attachment that her friends had. If he died it wouldn’t be the loss of someone close to her, but instead a waste of caps. The other part of her- the softer side of her that tried to stay in the forefront of her mind while being beaten back by the Commonwealth- was sickened by how black and white she was making this. 

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, “You need another pair of hands and I need a ticket out of this fu- damn town. I know my side of the deal, how do I know you wouldn’t put a bullet in my back?” 

 

She turned to face him fully, “I guess you really don’t.” He held her gaze, blue locked on brown, “But isn’t that just part of the risk? You’ll have to take comfort in the fact that it probably won’t be on purpose.”

 

Arching an eyebrow, he adjusted his hat, “I guess you're right.” Maccready squinted at her, “200 caps.” 

 

“100.” This felt like slavery, bartering for how much his life was worth to her. 

  
The Merc gritted his teeth, “Fine. 100.” Nereida pulled the small pouch from her bag and hefted it at him. Tossing it in his hand, Maccready bared his teeth in a grin, “Let’s get this show on the road.”


	2. The Runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized I actually have to introduce a character first before throwing his name around. Funny how these things work. Cain is another one of my Sole Survivors I've re-purposed for this series. This takes place a few days after meeting/saving Preston.

Concord seemed bigger somehow. Maybe because it no longer bustles with people streaming from houses and shops and instead sits desolate, only stirred by the breeze. The Museum of Freedom stood tall in its center, as it had for the past 200 years. 

 

Nereida stood below it, staring up at the tattered American flag drifting lazily from the balcony. She frowned then glanced down at the raider corpse by her feet. Leaning down, she plucked a scrap of paper from inside their armor and flipped it open. 

 

_ Get that son of a bitch Runner back here, or there will be hell to pay, _

- _ Charter _

 

Nereida sighed and tucked it into her bag, “At least it’s straight forward.” She turned, brown eyes glossing over the rest of the fresh raider corpses littering the streets. They hadn’t been expecting the Minuteman’s new General and her canine companion. Pursing her lips, she let out a low whistle and waited until a familiar streak of brown was rushing towards her. 

 

Dogmeat cocked his head up at the General, barking happily when she scratched under his chin, “Come on, pal, whoever they were after might still be in there.” Dogmeat let out another bark and bounded towards the worn front doors of the museum. Rolling her eyes, Nereida followed.

 

The inside was dark and dismal as usual, stuttering recordings from 2077 launching into their pre-recorded lines periodically. Fading American flags and costumed mannequins were scattered about along with several fresh Raider corpses. Flickering lights cast odd shadows on her dark, freckle splashed skin. 

 

“Hello?” Nereida’s voice echoed off the old walls, “Anyone in here?” Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to grab her hunting rifle off her back just in case. Dogmeat trotted up beside her, dark nose twitching as he craned his head around. He took off in an instant, barking feverishly as he leapt the stairs. 

 

Cursing the hound, Nereida raced after him. 

 

The german shepherd stopped at the door where Preston had barricaded himself and the other survivors in. The door itself was slightly ajar, the sides smeared with blood that was just barely dry. Grabbing her rifle Nereida braced it against her shoulder and nudged the door open with her toe, eyes trained down the scope as she stepped fully into the room. 

 

She was met by a pair of steel blue eyes and the barrel of a 10mm pistol. A man slouched against the far wall, one hand wavering as he leveled the pistol at her while the other seeked to stem the flow of blood from his side. 

 

His fingers clicked against the trigger, “Don’t come any closer.” 

 

Nereida lowered her gun away from her face, “I won’t hurt you.” 

 

He laughed at that, throwing back his head, “If I had a cap for every time I heard that…” He grunted in pain and let his arm drop, “What do you want?” 

 

“I’m going to assume that all those Raiders outside were after you.” As she spoke, Nereida sized him up. He was tall, dressed in simple pants and a tattered sleeveless blue shirt; his skin was dark olive and marred by scars, his hair black. Three jagged scars marked the life side of his lip and the skin across his collarbone was coloured by severe burns that hadn’t healed well. Catching sight of another bullet wound on his shoulder, she judged whatever life he’d been leading up until now had not been easy, even for the Commonwealth.  

 

The man straightened with a hiss of pain, “You’d assume…” His words cut off and he staggered two steps forward. His eyes rolled back and the gun slipped from his hands as his body pitched forward. 

 

She just barely reached him in time. 

 

\---

 

His name is Cain. She finds it etched into the locket hidden in his shirt as the doctor peels it off to tend his wound. Inside was a worn photo of him standing with a young black haired girl and an older man, all smiling and unscarred. The edges are tattered and the picture is faded from use. It is Cain’s anchor, Nereida can tell from the way it tightens her chest, in the way Nate’s wedding ring is hers.  

 

She left it on the table beside him once his wound had been taken care of, and went to watch the river. Preston joined her there, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the sun rise over the hill. 

 

“Those are some pretty nasty scars he has,” he glanced at the General as he spoke, “makes you wonder what those Raiders did to him.” 

 

Nereida let out a long breath, fiddling with the string that holds Nate’s wedding band around her neck, “On one hand, I am curious but I’m also not sure I  _ want _ to know.” Preston hummed in agreement, refocusing on the horizon. They stood there for a time until a voice shook them from the calm. 

 

“General.” Cain stood behind them leaning heavily on a wooden crutch. 

 

Nereida exchanged a surprised look with Preston, “...We weren’t expecting you to be awake, uh… How are you feeling?” 

 

His eyes flicked between the two of them and then towards the sun before he replied, “I’ve had worse. The Raiders liked to trap me in an arena and throw any creatures they could find at me.” He smiled wryly, “Even a Deathclaw once.” 

 

Preston’s eyes flashed, “That’s twisted- Why would they do that?!” 

 

Cain shrugged in a forced nonchalance, “No idea. Guess they found it amusing. They called me a ‘Runner’. Sometimes they’d even have the nerve to chase me themselves.” Silence fell thick for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, “You seem to know my name, but I’ve yet to find out yours, aside from the fact that you’re the General of the Minutemen.” 

 

Nereida jumped, “Oh. I’m Nereida Zosimus, and this,” She indicated the Minuteman beside her and he tipped his hat, “is Preston Garvey.” 

 

Preston laughed and elbowed the woman next to him, “Now you’ve meet all the Minutemen.” 

 

She scowled at him, “I’m working on it!” Giving the chuckling Minuteman a friendly shove, she made a grab for his hat. Cain watched them, a bemused smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

 

He adjusted his grip on his crutch and rubbed his side, “Well, if you’re looking for people, you’ve got a third member right here.” He couldn’t help grinning at the surprise on both their faces, “It's not like I have anywhere to go back too, and I’m certainly not crawling back to those Raiders.” 

 

“You don’t belong to a settlement?” Preston raised an eyebrow. 

 

Cain bit his lip and stared at his feet, “You know about the Weston Massacre?” 

 

The two exchanged a look. Preston had caught Nereida up on most of the horrid events that had happened during the two hundred years she’d been on ice. The Weston Massacre was among these tales. 

 

A force of Raiders threatened to destroy the settlement and everyone in it unless they paid a hefty sum of caps. Instead the settlers dug in, and without backup from the shattered fragments of the Minutemen, were slaughtered by the Raiders. They left nothing standing in that place, not even the buildings or the bodies. The smoke could been seen from miles away for weeks. 

 

There was also rumors that one of the Settlers had sold themselves to the Raiders in an attempt to stave them off. 

 

From the scars to his story to the way his body was built, there was no doubt that person was Cain. Thick silence had resumed its place around them, only cut by the occasional bird song until Nereida spoke.

  
Hands on her hips, she sighed, “Well then, as your General, I order you to go get some rest.” She pointed towards the row of houses that still stood, “Preston, make sure our newest member gets there safely.” She offered the Runner a smile, “We don’t have the numbers to afford losing him.”


End file.
